


On the Wind, Cross the Sea

by Some_Impossible_Fairytale



Series: Someone Holds Me Safe and Warm [2]
Category: The Originals (TV), The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, Anastasia - Freeform, Caroline Forbes and Lorenzo St. John Friendship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Human! Caroline, Hybrid! Klaus, Mild Language, Russian Royalty, mainly not, sort of canon, you can prize Carenzo from my cold dead fingers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-18
Updated: 2017-04-18
Packaged: 2018-10-20 16:01:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10666044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Some_Impossible_Fairytale/pseuds/Some_Impossible_Fairytale
Summary: There’s a rumour in St. Petersburg.It’s a legend really, a mystery surrounding the deposed Imperial family. Part of the country’s history. Not that of Anastasia but something much older. Something to do with magic. They say the Princess Carolina did not die in that coup that even though it was 300 years ago, encompassing the entire rule of the Romanov family, she lives.But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.Sequel to 'Things I almost Remember'





	On the Wind, Cross the Sea

**Author's Note:**

> The beginning of this is entirely due to the fact that 'A rumour in St. Petersburg' came on shuffle. I REGRET NOTHING.

There’s a rumour in St. Petersburg. It’s a legend really, a mystery surrounding the deposed Imperial family. Part of the country’s history. Not that of Anastasia but something much older. Something to do with magic. They say the Princess Carolina did not die in that coup that even though it was 300 years ago, encompassing the entire rule of the Romanov family, she _lives._

But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.

∞

Russia was a wild card.

But it was also their best chance. America was no longer safe. Nor was Italy, Spain, any of the places they’ve cultivated over the past thousand years. Russia, locked in snow on the other side of the world is their terra incognita. Normally, Klaus would lead his family to ground, but ground that they knew – or certainly where they could stack the deck. Russia meant laying foundations; personalities, income, somewhere with security and plenty of bodies to throw Mikael’s way. And the faster they can built a safe haven the better.

But they dearly like living and so to Russia they go.

Granada was too close. Marcel had nearly died. And Klaus will not risk his son, especially not when Caroline has not been around for over 200 years. He will not send any of them away now, not even Enzo, who is not kin, nor friend. He is one of Caroline’s most beloved, her best friend, her brother. For her sake, for the love they both bear her in their different ways Klaus keeps Enzo close. It is good to have someone around to whom he is not brother or father or lover. In an odd reversal of his traditional position; to always be strong, to show no weakness to outsiders, Klaus often finds he enjoys sitting with Enzo and a quiet drink, simply missing the other part of their family; light and lovely. The missing third of their unspoken Triumvirate.

Kol is in the wind, Finn somewhere with Sage – safe without cost, who ran off the second it went to shit all those years ago. They are standing in front of the royal palace in St. Petersburg, well wrapped against the cold; Klaus, Enzo, Marcel, Bekah, Freya and Elijah. Freya could leave and live unhindered but her loyalty to her siblings cannot be faulted. It’s needless but they need to blend in. Much as they don’t feel the cold, it is equally useful they don’t break a sweat otherwise these furs would suffocate. The royal family are to make an address. Normally, Klaus couldn’t give a shit but he likes luxury, likes giving Caroline beautiful things and so it is useful to know the humans who think they control the world so that compulsion can be employed. Even when she is nowhere to be found, the habit has stuck.

The royal family files along a balcony, waving dutifully. The Tsar and Tsarina are arm in arm, shepherding the youngest of their children along, three little boys and two girls. There’s a second wave, the older children, two twins arm in arm, one strapping elder boy – practically a man – face turned to talk to his sister who is behind him. Its only when they’re stood beside their parents, faces fully turned to the crowd that the Mikaelsons see it. See her.

_Caroline._

The eldest girl, bedecked in white fur and palest silks, laughing at something the Tsarevich – her brother – is saying, is indeed his Caroline. That blonde hair is escaping its elegant plait, those rosy cheeks are nipped by the winter air. Klaus grips Enzo’s arm and a part of him notes that Enzo is gripping back just as hard and he wonders exactly when it was that he started reaching for Enzo rather than Rebekah where Caroline was concerned.

“Bloody hell.”

Klaus and the rest of the Mikaelsons tear their eyes from Caroline, to stare at Kol. Just like the rest of them several seconds ago, he is staring agog at Caroline, joy and disbelief lighting his face. Even Kol was never safe from Caroline’s personal charm.  

“HOW DID YOU FIND US?” Elijah nearly shouts in the crowd, using his supernatural elbows against the comparably soft bodies to maintain the personal space they have garnered. Fear has blossomed in the elder man’s eyes and Klaus, behind the happiness he feels that Caroline is back that she’s alive, feels it too. If Kol could find them so easily, in the middle of a market square what does that mean for Mikael?

“Keep your hair on. Freya contacted me. You didn’t think I’d miss Russia did you?” The gaze switches from Kol to Freya, who simply shrugs, quick and keen, before retraining her eyes on Caroline. After years trapped with their Aunt Dahlia, Freya is something of an anomaly. Beloved to the absent Finn, Rebekah, Elijah and Klaus she has never met Caroline. And rather than Original Vampire, a curious brand of magic keeps Freya immortally lovely, hence her ability to contact her siblings in a far more immediate fashion than the letters the others must employ. 

“Niklaus” Elijah has hold of him now, is desperately trying to catch his gaze. “What will you do? I implore you do not sacrifice our family for the sake of the past. Especially not for some shadow, some copy of your former wife”

Klaus returns the grip Elijah has on him, far less gently. Contrary to popular belief Klaus is capable of keeping his temper when he truly wants to. True, he does it better when Caroline is with them, but he is still learning to cope with the time in between. He shows mercy, pity, even kindness for her. Enzo lives because of her. She had put herself in front of him, shielded the then baby vampire with her all too mortal body and asserted her protection. A human in front of an Original. Some would say a mouse before a lion. And she had won.  Villages were left intact because of her smile, humans erased rather than drained so that she would not withhold her touch. For her. All for her.

But then she always had been a marvel. A magic beyond his understanding.

Elijah continues to attempt to save his soul. Yet the elder Mikaelson, even after all these years has never realised that Klaus already had a guardian angel.

“Caroline _is_ my wife. Not some cheap doppelgänger imitation. Our bodies are dead, brother. Yet we have survived in our own ways, ergo our vows remain. She is my past, future and thank Heaven now my present. She is our family Elijah, she is Marcel’s _mother_ and I will not have you abandon her. Have you forgotten that she was there, that she is just as much a reason for our transformation as Henrik? Always and Forever.”

Elijah is trying to loosen Klaus’ grip and maintain his footing, uneasy feats in the crowded square. The rest of their family watch the squabble with interest but do not intervene. When it comes to Caroline, Klaus stays his course as steady as the tide. Until the _tunglskin_ shines on his resolve and bends him to her will. “We are to keep a low profile Niklaus! How long do you think we will last once it gets across the water that the Tsar’s daughter has fallen in love with some jumped up Englishman?”

“And as per usual Elijah, Caroline has made a far better plan of action than you. And she’s not even her entire self yet” At Elijah’s confused snarl Klaus smiles, all at once ease and friendliness once more. “We will be welcome guests of the Russian royal family. We’ll compel all but Caroline to love and welcome us. The Romanovs have the best protection. Wherever they go we will be and Mikael would never expect us to hide in plain sight.”

Kol’s trademark shit eating grin is in place. Freya’s looking speculative, Elijah’s mouth is open as if he will protest but can’t remember how to phrase it. But its Rebekah’s eye Klaus catches, his darling baby sister, with that small smile the two of them would share with Henrik and Caroline in the little village of shacks they inhabited all those years ago.  “We will be the Henriksons”

Unseen to the others, their gloved hands find each other and intertwine. He looks from Rebekah to Caroline, smiling up there on the balcony with this incarnation’s family and he _prays._

∞

This incarnation doesn’t like him very much. She always looks away when he meets her gaze, never speaks to him in the Drawing room or ballrooms. It’s a bad start but he’s not put off. He would never let her down like that. The last time, with Anne Boleyn’s maid of honour, the teenage Earl’s daughter had curtseyed and smiled flirtatiously over the hand of the Marquis of Pembroke. Back then, motivated by advancement and hopes of young, handsome husband, things had tripped along nicely in wooing Lady Caroline Howard, the new Queen’s beloved cousin. The downside had been not knowing whether Caroline had been overly affected by the opinions of that time and her friends, whether she had been glad to marry him for the safety of position. That was until the wedding night of their all too short lived marriage. Caroline had pinned him up against the door and ravished him, thanked him for choosing her, saving her from having to marry another, much older man her father had been eying. His reply had been whether she regretted not ensnaring the King himself for surely among all the beauties at court, she was the most able.

Caroline had thrown her head back and laughed until it had changed into a moan of delight at the teasing edge of his teeth at her throat. She’d admitted she’d thought about it once or twice but that she would leave that game and all its dangers to Anne. Anne who for all her sharp tongue was sure to be better at watching her step. Besides she had her own Sir Loyal Heart to contend with.

In the end nothing had been able to save Caroline or Anne. The Mikaelsons had been abroad, ostensibly as ambassadors for the King but truly to enjoy a French holiday. Caroline had not accompanied them – she did not want to leave Anne as one of her trusted ladies during a time when the gossips were at their worst. They’d had a blazing row before they’d left but Klaus had thought her safe as a Queen’s lady surrounded by guards and with a servant compelled to taste every  dish set before her. By the time they’d heard of Anne and Caroline’s rushed executions, of how the two women had died together on the scaffold for sins they did not commit it was too late. History would tell of how the Marquis had stayed safely in exile after his wife’s execution but that was not strictly true. It had taken several days to reach Calais from where they’d been staying in the south of France and by then Klaus had decided on a crueller torment for Henry Tudor. Rather than kill him immediately, rather than destroy the Tudor dynasty for the sins of their father and let news of a palace siege reach Mikael’s ears he would wait.

And wait he had. When old, frail Henry VIII was bedridden from the ulcer on his leg, Klaus Mikaelson, Marquis of Pembroke had appeared in his chambers, young and fresh as ever. The guards had been compelled to think the King died of a heart attack, in his sleep, with his last wife at his side. The true version was much gorier. Klaus had rather delighted in ripping the old bastard apart, finally tearing into his throat and seeing how _he_ liked it. And as a favour to Caroline, and to the engaging Anne, he had watched over Elizabeth, whom they had all loved so much, from afar and made sure that she survived to be remembered to preside over England’s Golden Age.

Now, Russian Princess Carolina is a different story. Rather than bat her eyelids and curtsey lowly while she kisses his hand Carolina eyes him coolly and waits instead for his bow. He gives it willingly, stifling his amusement at her distaste then glaring at his siblings till they follow his lead.

She sweeps out in a flurry of cloth of silver immediately after the Tsar finishes the introductions, seizing her brother the Tsarevich’s hand, snapping her fingers for her dogs. She’s mumbling to Alexei or whatever about why she doesn’t understand why Papa made them dress up in their best court clothes to meet some minor English nobles. Enzo’s jaw snaps shut in jealousy and Klaus thinks of all the times its Enzo’s hand she’d grabbed after storming away from him. Oddly this time Klaus finds himself being sympathetic rather than pissed off.

∞

Carolina taps her bare feet on the chaise as she stares out the window. Hateful snow. Hateful stuffy clothing. She _longed_ for the Summer Palace, for green grass and blue sky. Beside her, Alexei abandons his book and brushes his hands sneakily along the chaise under the green velvet of her skirts until he reaches her feet and begins to tickle mercilessly.

Between shrieks of laughter Carolina begs “Mercy brother, mercy” until he relents, pulling her to sit upright so he can kiss her hand. “There’s my smiling sister,” he pauses, expression growing concerned once more. “What troubles you? You have been a little thundercloud for days now. Are you worried Papa will push you to marry again?”

Caroline tsked at his suggestion “You know Papa could never force me to do anything. Would never. Mama on the other hand…” her voice trails off and she tucks her feet beneath herself more fully. Carolina’s eyes trail to her younger sisters, big and little, playing happily at trains with their brothers. Sometimes she wishes she was as young as they, that she was not in danger of being old maid left on the shelf. Mama has been insisting she consider suitors more frequently now. She is a Romanov, she is either to do her Imperial duty and provide a worthwhile connection or take orders and be done with it. But she is the daughter of the Russian emperor and she will not be forced to take a man she does not deem worthy.

“You will find someone my treasure. And besides, when Papa dies, I will protect you from old Baba Yaga. You will not have to leave us until you find someone who makes it worthy” he whispers conspiratorially, glancing at the governess turned back lest she hear his un-filial whispers.

It’s then that Carolina notices that Margaretta, a jovial Irishwoman, is not doing her job of watching the children but conversing in hushed tones with someone at the door. Not that she, Alexei, Olga or Natalia need a chaperone but the little ones certainly do. Then Margaretta turns to face them and puts out her hands for her charges. “Come Your Serene Highnesses. Time for bed” amid the grumbling, Carolina and Alexei good-naturedly shepherd their little siblings through the nursery doors with playful taps of their books on the stragglers royal rumps.

“Sir” Alexei turns at being singled out “The Tsar will expect you to be getting ready for the ball tonight. Her Serene Highness has a visitor, whom the Tsarina has requested have her undivided attention.” At the Crown Prince’s raised brow and Carolina’s hand reaching for her brother’s arm, Margaretta divulges “Lord Niklaus Henrikson of England”

Carolina snorts. _Mama’s truly scraping the barrel now._ Alexei transfers his gaze from the Irishwoman to his sister in confusion but Carolina waves him away, leaning on his arm to kiss his cheek. Carolina will see off any hopes this poxy Englishman has of securing a Tsar’s daughter and not miss the first quadrille. He may be attractive, he may have a hint of the devil in his gaze but that’s just the challenge, the desire to claim power and Carolina is no-one’s chess piece.

Rearranging herself on the chaise, she gives Margaretta a signal to open the door and waits to see how good a case this Lord Niklaus can make for himself. He stands in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back like a member of the Leib Guard. Except where they’re expressions are normally of careful neutrality, he’s grinning smugly at her.

Carolina will soon see to that.

“Lord Niklaus, what an unexpected pleasure” she gestures fleetingly for him to enter, keeping her hand outstretched for him to kiss. She doesn’t rise, refuses to let this go on longer than it has to.

Most men who kiss her hand do it properly, brief and respectful. Some young courtiers practically make love to it, slavering all over her, thinking that the more ardent the courtesy, the better the impression. Carolina smiles prettily at them and wipes her hand on the back of her skirts as subtly as she can.

Lord Niklaus mouth is gentle and brief, but his grip on her fingers is warm and firm, eyes fixed on hers in a way that she’s sure she wouldn’t be bold in thinking are imagining kissing her lips rather than her hand. She wonders what that would feel like. What he tastes like. Feeling the warmth of a blush spread across her cheekbones Carolina is mortified. He’s been in the room five minutes and he’s succeeded in getting more reaction out of her than every boy since she reached puberty.

It might be the turn of his head but she’s pretty certain he’s just winked at her.

Pulling her hand back Carolina scoffs and asks in the most commanding tone she can manage precisely what he is doing in the family’s private apartments.

Niklaus smiles and with his other hand produces an old book from behind his back. “Forgive me Your Serene Highness,” he glides over the words clearly not caring whether she forgives the intrusion or not “but I was speaking with your mother just this morning and she mentioned you have a sincere interest in the Tudor Kings. I thought perhaps you might enjoy perusing this particular volume from my library”

“You travel with books?” Carolina asks before she can stop herself, interest well and truly piqued. A part of her is cursing Mama for being unable to keep her mouth shut, another is wondering what book he might possess that she has not already seen regarding the Tudors.

“Only those which I’ve either recently acquired or could not bring myself to leave behind.” He acknowledges with a slight tilt of the head, relinquishing the book to her eager hands. It’s a thick, well-loved volume, she can see that right away. The blue leather is in perfect condition but the pages are older; thick and roughly cut, so it’s evidently been rebound at one point.

Klaus watches her examine the book like a connoisseur about to taste wine and fights the urge to kiss her. _Caroline. My immortal beloved._ It was one of the few things he enjoyed about these initial meetings with her new lives, watching which traits of hers the current incarnation embodied the strongest. Some were more shy, some truly outspoken, others had been truly sensitive but they were all her. He had however, yet to meet one who was the most like the girl from Mystic Falls he had known as a human boy when un-awakened anyway.  This one certainly had Caroline’s flaming self respect, as well she should. He was so pleased to see her as a royal, a Grand Princess no less, with the very best the world had to offer at her fingertips. He could not wait to revel in this lifestyle with her. And actually, that gave him a rather splendid idea, depending on the success of this interview….

Caroline – Carolina he reminds himself to stick to the appropriate variant – lets out a little gasp and is looking at him with what can only be described as the unbridled joy of an academic unwrapping a mystery. Her finger trace the metal badge on the front board’s bottom right corner, the falcon crowned in glory.

“ _Anna Boleyn”_ it’s murmured in reverence, though her eyes are accusing and he wonders whether the book Henry’s second wife had pressed into Caroline’s hands in 1536 for her birthday has unlocked her mind.

Klaus nods, not trusting himself to speak. Caroline has never woken up the same way twice and he wouldn’t put it past her to surprise him. She makes a living doing that as it is.

“Wherever did you get this?” she angles her body on the chaise, unwittingly or not, but Klaus gladly takes up the space she made for him. Once he’s sat beside her, he reaches to gently undo the lock mechanism and open the book for her to the title page.

“It’s been in the possession of my family, the Marquises of Pembroke since 1536. Supposedly given to my – ancestor – by Queen Anne herself” he stutters out, just managing not to say _wife_ in time. They have fallen into step once more, in a way that only Klaus and Caroline do, natural as breathing. There is a reason Klaus fell for her that first time, why when she appeared again he did not brush it off as the universe’s cruelty taunting him but took it for the second, third, fourth, fiftieth chance it has turned out to be. She is his equal, his partner in crime, his better half. She brings him a balance through her own character he has not experienced with any other. He has neither the power nor the will to resist her.

Also he’ll have to remember to compel the Court to start using the old Marquis title rather than plain Lord Niklaus of heritage undisclosed. Oh, Elijah can deal with that.

“I thought you would like to borrow it for a time, the illuminated illustrations are fascinating”  Caroline looks at him sharply, evidently surprised by the offer before she grins, unable to resist the loan. She gets dazzling trinkets by the dozen from those mortal dullards, this truly appeals to her sensibilities. To her past, her own self, even if she doesn’t know it. He’d be a pretty shitty husband if he couldn’t make his wife smile after all.

“Thank you” she replies emphatically, gathering the book to her chest.

Klaus gets up, pleased to have made her smile and fully intending to dance with her all night. Kol had once wondered aloud that he didn’t get bored, wooing Caroline over and over again. Much as Kol loved Caroline – was no-one immune to her? – He was never shy about awkward questions. And truth be told, Klaus had wondered about it himself but each and every time she drew him in the same as before.

“You’re leaving?” Caroline’s voice has lost its princely confidence, now sounding lost, confused that this is one gentleman she cannot hold to her presence. She could command him to stay in the room but Klaus has never seen the Princess do that to servant or courtier and he can’t imagine she’ll start now.

“We must get ready for this evening’s celebrations. Save me a dance?” the words are tossed over his shoulder, and it may be a tad cocky, but he can’t do all the chasing. He prefers it when she meets him halfway. Caroline actually does get up, steps with him, so that they’re standing close together. There’s some of that steel in her eyes again, that infuriation that they have always managed to bring out in each other. Then she sweeps past him, breaking the moment without out answering, evidently more than a tad miffed shutting the nursery doors in his face when he tries to follow at a human speed.

God he’s missed her.

∞

The ballroom is heaving, despite its spaciousness. It’s only the steadying touch of Rebekah on his arm that stops Klaus from biting the throat out of footman, some whelp still wet behind the ears, who jostles him. Rebekah cranes her neck in an unladylike fashion to watch the footman’s progress down the long corridor’s opulent carpet to where his superior is waiting announcing courtiers into the room.

“Something’s afoot” she notes to him in a gleeful whisper and Klaus smiles back dotingly, pleased to see Rebekah blossoming in these comfortable surroundings. They both fall silent, focusing their hearing to the other end of the corridor to catch what’s being said.

“I wonder if they’ll be pineapples at dinner now that the Ambassador’s back he’s-“

“The Marquis of Pembroke’s looking do straighten up Sofia! Don’t you know he’s –“

“The Tsar could spend less time with his family and more time getting us into the damned celebration –“

“ _Her Serene Highness refuses to quit the library! The Tsarina is beside herself, screaming that she will never get a husband if she takes their gifts without at least dancing with them and the Grand Duchess replied that she would not be sold like cattle at market and hang anyone who tries to marry her off!”_

Ah, there. The herald, whose second in command has taken over whilst he takes the news from the footman, looks like he’s about to faint. Klaus hides his smile at Caroline’s fire behind his gloved hand

_“Where are they now?”_

_“The Tsarina left to join the royal family – she’s down there now”_ the footman’s head jerked at the ballroom door “ _but the Grand Duchess declared that she would finish her book and she would only open the door to the Tsarevich”_

_“Damnation! Ever since that Englishman and his family came here, her head’s been turned but she refuses to admit it! Ilya go and inform the Tsarevich and we’ll see if we can move the Marquis of Pembroke’s place setting so he’s not sitting with her at dinner!”_

The footman - Ilya – nods and scurries off to try and resolve the situation.

It’s only later, when Klaus tries to engage Caroline after she enters the ballroom and she brushes him off by declaring that she requires a drink that he thinks perhaps he’s been pushing her too hard. This is heavily supported by the fact that the servants were unable to move Klaus away from Caroline at dinner that she totally upsets the flow of conversation by talking not to him as the person on her left, but to Enzo on her right.

“No wine please, I have the most atrocious headache.” She orders the poor butler before asking Enzo what he’s enjoying the most about Russia. She’s also pointedly flirting with him and Enzo keeps shooting glances over her shoulder at Klaus, evidently conflicted because while he often made comments around Caroline _she_ was the one to tell him to get lost. Plus now he can see Klaus’ thunderous expression and probably wants to keep his heart inside his chest.

Caroline always manages to neatly sidestep his machinations but then she always was too clever for her own good.

After the meal, there’s more dancing, less refined and ordered by protocol. Caroline’s elder brother, her safe harbour, is busy with several beauties desiring to become the future Empress. Caroline is equally beleaguered but is by no means enjoying it. Every time she tries to skirt out of the ballroom, her mother fixes her with a glare and the guards flanking whichever exit Caroline’s eying move closer together.

Striding through the loud compliments that encompass Carolina, Klaus bows low and offers her his hand.

“If you think I’m going to dance with _you_ –“ she starts, not even allowing him to get the actual invitation out

“You could insult me right in my face for a good ten minutes and your mother will lower her pistols meaning you’ve earned your ticked out of here. Why not?”

Carolina eyes him for a minute, clearly not having considered that he would so candidly address her dislike of him. The she smiles at him, her first true smile all evening, parroting his question smugly back at him as she takes his hand.

She’s obviously about to start dressing him down when he slips his hand around her waist and pulls her close. Her reprimand dies on her tongue and she flushes prettily. Klaus finds himself tracing her jawline, down to the prefect elegance of her throat and wishing he could taste her blood once more, feel her love and happiness coursing through his veins, literally keeping him alive.

Elijah and Freya waltz past them grinning beyond propriety and Klaus rolls his eyes.

“Boring you am I?”

Shit.

“No love.” He scrambles to think of a topic to talk about “How are you finding the book?”

Caroline scowled and muttered something about struggling with the old English and giving herself a headache. She breaks his hold on her hand to rub at her forehead. The headaches – an uncomfortable side effect of her nature – have already started. It’s a good sign, even if this particular incarnation has rediscovered the dislike she initially had of him in their American settlement.

She’d fallen in love with him then. And the over one hundred lifetimes she’s had since then.

He’ll take his chances.

“Alright then. Onto more mannered subjects like how ravishing you look in that dress”

Caroline smiles softly at him, reading the sincerity of the compliment in his tone and twirling in his arms to demonstrate the silver dress properly.  

∞

“She’s resisting” the words come thick and heavy on Klaus tongue, words stilted with fresh blood. He lets the Lieb guard drop to the floor, wiping at the edges of his mouth as he listens for the man’s faint heartbeat.

“And who can blame her?” asks Kol bitingly. He’s been deliberately aggravating in these last few weeks, bored of Russia and behaving himself. But the problem of living in a large city, of being truly undercover as it were, is being unable to indulge and leave bodies drained.

“I agree” voices Rebekah from where she’s reclining on a chaise with her own guardsman, ripping her mouth away from the man’s main artery just before he’s drained wholly dry. Rebekah is generally quite fond of Caroline – loves her sister in law – but she is still the spoilt Rebekah she has always been and scraping to Caroline, calling her princess and waiting on her (although waiting on princesses in this time simply means being a companion) is evidently chafing. It’s why he and Enzo have joined the younger Mikaelson siblings in their feeding, both to try and sooth them and make sure that they don’t leave any dead for people to find.

“Don’t ever let Marcel catch you talk like that” Klaus says by way of reprimand, not in the mood for a fight, but unable to ignore the irritation that Rebekah might upset Marcel, who was always touchy about Caroline.

“How long before Caroline wakes up and we can leave this place?” she whines, clearly upset when none of her family answer her, not even Enzo. He may be sweet on the youngest Mikaelson but even he draws the line when Rebekah’s being brattish.

“It takes as long as it takes, sister, no-one’s going anywhere” he answers at length, hoping she’ll stomp off and leave them all in some semblance of peace for a moment. Instead Rebekah snarls, her vampiric face returning at his bluntness, which he knows she takes as cruel disregard for her feelings.

“There, darling, no need to make a scene” Enzo tries soothingly, getting up from his own meal to heal her guard and compel the lot of them to leave. Enzo brushes the blood from Rebekah’s lips and smooths her skirts. “Caroline’s resisting it all because of the pressure you’re all putting on her. What is it you’ve always said Klaus, you have to woo the princess so she walks out of the castle on her own? Especially not with that mother on top of the weight of the Mikaelsons”

“Do shut up Lorenzo” But Klaus reaches for the decanter and pours four glasses. Kol, mercifully has been silent up to now, clearly enjoying Klaus berating someone who’s not him. Jumping up Kol strides over and holds out his hand for Rebekah.

“Come sister, let’s leave these old men to their prattle and plots. I’ll show you what it truly means to have a night in St. Petersburg” he winks at her and Rebekah pushes aside Enzo to take Kol’s arm instead.

Its Enzo’s turn to snarl, low in his chest but he doesn’t move from his position kneeling by the chaise, letting Rebekah’s skirts hit him in the face. Choosing his battles.

“What are you going to do? Enzo asks once they're alone. 

“I thought I might propose to her” 

∞

A week or so later he has managed to closet Carolina away, trying to gauge the progress his flirtations have made. The Empress is certainly thrilled, but that means nothing. It simply means his access to her is less restricted. 

“Mama thinks I favour you” Carolina remarks, staring up a painting in the library

“And do you?”

“Over every other stuffed shirt, swaggering peacock I’ve met? Certainly, why not?”

“Careful your highness lest you give me unwarranted hope”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing here? Or am I just a passing fancy? You’re not staying after all, just a detour that’s what everyone’s been saying”

Shit that explains her coolness. She thought he wasn’t serious, that he was just flirting out of polite boredom. Bloody gossips, he should kill them on principal. “On the contrary I find myself fixed here for the foreseeable future. By you. What do I have to do to convince you?”

“Stay and prove it”

“However long it takes”

∞

They’ve been courting for nine months all told – the additional time due to Caroline’s own distrust and concern over his commitment. But he has won her round at last by establishing a routine and sticking to it. She’s got this odd obsession with routine and order. Indeed, victory makes her kisses taste all the sweeter because he has truly earned them. Enzo has also wormed his way into her affections as per usual and for a moment Klaus had been concerned themselves at a standoff for her affections. But then Enzo had assured him that they had merely been ponder Caroline’s engagement to Klaus and whether they would inhabit England or remain in Russia.

The cause of Caroline’s laughter when Klaus had called at her apartments had been Enzo’s vehement championing of remaining in Russia.

And now, he and Caroline are strolling along one of the palace corridors, nodding at the various courtiers they pass. “Quick” he breathes, grabbing her waist and rushing her into an empty room just a step too quickly to pass for mere athleticism.

“Nik!” she admonishes with a wicked giggle, blonde ringlets swaying as she leans secretively out of the door to check they will not be missed. She straightens, closing the door to be met with a desperate kiss that Caroline returns greedily. She removes her gloves and runs her hands through his own thick curling hair, nails scraping his scalp. One of the wonderful things about Carolina was her apparent desperation for his touch, she was forever being improper by courtly standards pulling loose his shirts and ripping off her gloves to slide her bare hands against his stomach. She had quite the dirty laugh when she felt the muscles of his abdomen jump under her touch.

“We can –“he’s stopped from finishing his sentence immediately by a firm press of lips. “We can stop my lovely little love, if –“

“Nik” she whines against his throat, the slightest nip of teeth. “Please. Ask me. Ask me properly. Now, my heart.”

His brow quirks in askance at her meaning. Surely she doesn’t mean -

“Rebekah let it slip the other evening at cards. We can’t celebrate if you don’t ask the question”

Ah. His desires to propose to her. Klaus feels himself relaxing, grateful none of them will have to worry about a premature reveal of the truth.

“It seems a tad moot now” he jokes, resting their forehead together, an indulgent smirk playing about his lips.

“Niklaus Henrikson! I only intend to marry once and I would very much like to be asked properly”

Klaus thinks about arguing that point but simply pulls out the velvet case and pops the lid.

∞

“NIK!”

For a split second he thinks its Rebekah with Enzo, blonde hair and flashing eyes before Caroline comes to a stop outside the open doors of his suite.

“GET OUT OF THE WAY! LEAVE US!” she yells at the Leib guard who’s blocking her path, voice ripping through several octaves at his impudence.

“Your Serene Highness, the Tsar instructed that your fiancé have a guard at all times and –“

But Carolina won’t be placated “I DON’T GIVE A FUCK WHAT MY FATHER DOES OR DOESN’T WANT GREGOR. **GET. OUT.** ”

Thankfully Gregor is a hybrid and a useful one at that. He’s from the middle of Russia, regrettably having signed up to the army unaware of his lineage. Naturally, the first kill had triggered the curse but he had been able to get himself transferred to the Leib Guard, the Tsar’s personal bodyguards. That’s where he and Klaus had met, Klaus having discovered his scent and tracked him down in the palace. He had welcomed becoming a Hybrid and was unfailing loyal to his sire. Now however, his eyes flit from Klaus to Carolina and back again, in a quandary. It’s no small predicament either. Klaus may be his Alpha, but Caroline, as Klaus’ mate, shares that status. She is also Gregor’s Princess and when she shouts again, command laced with the Alpha bite Gregor scarpers. Klaus listens with interest when Gregor stops two corridors away.

Carolina charges in, dropping Enzo’s hand as she does so. She gets right in his face, resplendent in her red satin gown, heavily embroidered with jewelled phoenixes, the symbol of her house – a present from the Tsarina on her engagement. He wonders what he could have possibly done to upset her. “You infuriating dick!! You clever, absolute bastard!! What are you playing at? What have you done?!”

Klaus shares a look with Enzo, hoping for a clue, even traitorously thinking of compelling her to shut up so she can spare a minute to understand the issue. The other vampire only grins, clearly enjoying the tongue lashing, comfortable in the knowledge that Caroline’s love protects him from retribution.

Tosser.

“Don’t look at Enzo – answer me!”

“What have I done my love?” he tries to keep the wryness out his voice and fails miserably but looks at her with sincerity, hoping to end the spat before it can begin.

“ _On the wind, cross the sea, hear this song and remember…soon you’ll be home with me”_ Caroline sings sweetly, though her expression is downright murderous. Her hands rest on her hips, she shakes the long sleeves out of the way, engagement ring, a new one – the most opulent one of all that have graced that finger, being able to receive the best due to their elevation at court, flashing in the candlelight. That particularly large diamond was actually taken from the Tower of London, courtesy of a heavily compelled Ambassador.

It’s the words from the age old village lullaby that she sings. The lullaby he had had Faberge include in the beautiful music box that had been created for her. His gentle way of teasing her memories to the surface. The headaches have increased and the dreams have started so it won’t be long now. Carolina had complained that the beautiful music frustrated her, though she listened to nigh on incessantly, because she could not puzzle out the tune. She knew it, she said but the lyrics were always just out of reach.

Klaus looks back at the Russian suddenly stunned into realisation. She had always called Enzo by his full name. Her speech is different, and Carolina never swears above a hushed whisper lest one of her baby siblings, or worse her mother hear her. The lyrics were sung perfectly in tune.  

Which means….

“Caroline?”

She ignores him.

“Caroline!” he reaches for her grinning and when she steps back, evidently seeking a fight, displeased at his dodging.

“I will explain” he promises, reaching from her again. “I’ll tell you everything. Minn litt hrid. I’ve missed you”

All he wants to do is kiss her. Explanations can wait.

“Nik” she hums, anger draining out of her at his touch, as she marvels at him being here, at being Russian royalty. Relief at his presence and hunger for his touch override her irritation. She’s told him how on waking it’s a battle between her memories. Right now, part of her remembers growing up a Russian princess, the love of her family but there’s the other part. The part dealing with the new flood of memories and modernity. The part still stuck in Tudor England, the last life – the Howard girl – the last time she was alive _and_ aware. Of Henry VIII (the bastard) and Anne Boleyn, of intrigue, murder and plot. French hoods daringly pushed back off her face, throwing apples at Kol, going hunting and keeping an eye out for her family, speeding through the tree feeding off poachers and peasantry.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t there” he pleads into her neck.

“None of us could have known. And – Enzo was there” Klaus head snaps up at her words to pin the man in question before he understands her meaning. Enzo had been there when Carolina became Caroline. How she had choked his nickname, staggered under the truth’s weight, then swept across the room and nearly suffocated him with her long sleeves wrapped around his throat in a true hug.

“Nik” she hums frustratedly, working her fingers to remove his jacket and unlace her corset at the same time.

They’re both laughing, his jacket is off and finally – yes! – his shirt, her jacket and corset meaning their mouths can meet uninterrupted. Its only then that they hear a quietly grumpy “Oh bloody hell” before Enzo speeds out the door, blissfully locking it behind him.

A lovely long time later, with the hangings safely shut around them, with Caroline tracing designs on his stomach that she says “Do not think for one second this gets you off the hook Klaus”

“Course not mon amor” he says easily, speaking the French because he knows that her lack of grip on the language in this life frustrates her.

“Caroline?”  
“Mmmph”

“I’’m glad we ended up here, it’s very fortuitous”

Caroline only hums again, opening one eye. She knows him too well, knows this is leading somewhere. Caroline’s quite happy to listen but that’s probably the afterglow talking.

“Wouldn’t you rather be Tsarina?”

“That’s treason”

“Only till you’re Empress”

“You’re not killing Alexei. He’s my brother as much as Enzo is, he is my blood”

“We wouldn’t kill him, just compel him to abdicate. Name you his successor. Catherine the Great would have nothing on you”

“You’re terrible”

“I prefer Awe-Inspiring”

Caroline only groaned.

∞

“Sweetheart?”

Klaus voice broke through the crypt’s silence. Caroline moved out of the brush of his fingertips, closer to the barrier surrounding the coffins. One hand rested on the black railings, the other covered her mouth in grief.

“Do you want to leave?” he tries again, getting anxious for a response. It had been Caroline’s desire to go to Russia on their trip and so far the excursion had been one of Klaus’ favourite parts. Caroline had been showing him all her favourite parts of the city, reminiscing one of her favourite lives. They had giggled in the Hermitage, hidden themselves in a spy-space the intervening generations had forgotten about and nearly been discovered when Caroline, forgetting her new immortal strength had pressed Klaus passionately against the door as she kissed him. Then they had reached the Cathedral and the joyful mood of the last few days had disappeared. The two of them had mounted the steps in silence, heading straight for the Imperial crypt. Caroline had smiled at first, to see her ancestors and the descendants of her family. She had ran her hand along the rails containing her in-laws, nieces and nephews she had never known.

And then they had reached her immediate family.

 “No” she whispered so quietly he had to get her to repeat it. “No. Oh, _Alexei._ **Minn gorsimi.** Mama, Papa, Olga, Natalia, Maria, Nicolas, Peter, Xenia, Anastasia. Forgive me. I love you. I miss you, every-day…. _Dasvidanya.”_

She recites their names like a prayer, voice calling out to her loved ones through the veils of time. The Egyptians carved it on their own tombs after all. _Oh passer-by, say my name and help me live again._ The belief that saying the names of the dead gives them a breath of life. And for a moment, Caroline can feel their ghosts around her, with her, loving her still. Home. Love. Family. And she knows, _knows_ in a way she knows Klaus is the other part of her soul, that they are proud of her.

As she’d said their names, her eyes had trailed along the line of white marble coffins out of respect. It’s then that Caroline realises, in a way that stops her undead heart that there are not ten tombs but eleven. She had died, long before her family she remembers all of sudden, in that failed coup. So as befitting a Grand Duchess, Princess Carolina’s body had been interred in Saints Peter and Paul Cathedral. And over the years, her family had joined her. Klaus never did tell her if he attended the funeral.

She’s gunna be sick.

Ignoring Klaus voice Caroline barely manages to walk the short distance to the end of this particular generation of the Romanov family’s tombs at human speed. Sure enough, tucked in the corner at the end of the line is one that reads the words:

Here lies Her Serene Highness Carolina Anastasia Ekaterina Nikolaevna Romanova.

Princess of all Russia

Beloved and venerated daughter, sister and fiancée.

The last enemy that shall be destroyed is Death.

“After all, the name Anastasia means ‘She will rise again’”

Caroline snorts through her tears, remarking that if it gets out he’s a big softie who quotes her childhood movies to make her feel better, that’ll be the end of his empire.

Klaus tells her not to worry about it.

“So – so I’m” Caroline swallows hard, determined to force the words out “ _I’m in there”_ she points one manicured nail at her coffin. It’s one thing to speak of her past lives, another to remember them, to have an extended family of disconnected people long dead. It’s quite another to stand beside her own coffin, metres from her own dead body and yet be fully alive. This must be what an out-of-body experience feels like.

Klaus stays silent, unsure which approach would comfort her. Denying it disassociates her from her past, accepting it is gruesome and upsetting. Instead he moves to touch her, gently encircling her body with his own, entwining their fingers and raising their joint hands to rest over her heart. It’s not a panic attack thankfully, otherwise he wouldn’t be touching her. “You are right here with me Caroline. You are alive and breathing and Death will never touch you again my love. Breathe Caroline. Breathe with me” he pulls her attention to her beating heart, breathing in an exaggerated and full sense. Kisses her hair when her body relaxes into his own.

Caroline nods and says that they’ll have to come back tomorrow with flowers.

Klaus promises to set up a weekly arrangement to have flowers left.

Caroline leads the way out into the square. As they stand in the autumn sunshine, the conversation of two street vendors catches their attention. Caroline has to stifle her giggles when she realises they’re actually talking about her. Well, Carolina. Whatever.

_“So do you think its truth or just told for the crack? That’s she’s alive or dead?”_

_“Who knows?”_

 

 Looking over at Klaus reveals he’s smiling too and she knows that he’s debating whether to tell the truth, give St. Petersburg something to really talk about, just like she is. To avoid temptation she kisses him among these humans, buzzing like worker bees. As she pulls away, the sunlight illuminates her hair, setting the golden strands aflame, fingers winding around the locket she still wears. Brushing the double headed phoenix like a talisman. A truer representation of Caroline he has yet to find.

_Ashes to ashes. Dust to dust._

And Caroline has risen from the flame once more even more beautiful than before.

After all, the name Caroline means ‘strong’.

**Author's Note:**

> I STOLE A BIT FROM HARRY POTTER BUT C’MON IT FITS SO WELL RIGHT?!
> 
> I like many others suffer a dear love of Anne Boleyn, though I do find all of Henry’s Queens fascinating and powerful in their own ways. I was very drawn to the idea of Klaus hating Henry VIII for his treatment of Anne, Caroline and all his wives and children. The title Marquis of Pembroke was created for Anne – a wonderful way of demonstrating that perhaps Henry fell in love passionately with her in a way he did not love the other wives- and she is the only one to hold that title in English history. Anne held the title in her own right, something women couldn’t do, but Henry made sure that she could, it is in fact the first hereditary peerage title created for a woman. The fact that he let himself be poisoned against her, helped perhaps by the bad fall and potential brain damage he suffered in a joust is one of the saddest twists in a love story to me. However, with inserting our favourite pairing into history, I’ve taken certain liberties and felt it best to transfer the title to Klaus instead. 
> 
> Tunglskin is old norse for moonlight.  
> Minn Litt Hrid - my little storm in Old norse  
> Minn gorsimi - my treasure  
> Dasvidanya – Russian – Farewell, sometimes interpreted as until we meet again. 
> 
>  
> 
> Klaus’ and Caroline’s post-sex bicker is inspired by the fact that Ivan the Terrible is a mis-translation and is more accurately Ivan the Awe-Inspiring.


End file.
